


After the Rain

by justlook3



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlook3/pseuds/justlook3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A visit to his son's grave leads to another goodbye for Jack O'Neill. Set first season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in the very early days of the Stargate SG-1 fandom. This originally appeared in the print zine "New Worlds and False Gods #2."

 

The day was cold and gray even for March. A brisk wind blew through the trees in the cemetery, giving it an even more eerie air than normal. It was raining, a cold, bone chilling drizzle. 

A lone figure walked along the lone path in this part of the Old St. Mary's cemetery. He passed a large monument only giving it a quick glance. Then he stopped and stared at a willow a short distance away. The man ran a hand through his brown hair now touched with even more gray than a year ago. He plunged his hands back in the pockets of his coat, shivering slightly from the cold. He turned as if to go back and then stopped, staring once more at the willow. Taking a deep breath, he left the path and headed in its direction.

He stopped in front of a headstone directly under the willow. Kneeling, he touched the flat cold surface and traced the etchings on it. A simple cross was the only decoration. Then he traced the letters of the name on the stone:

CHARLES TYLER O'NEILL

BELOVED SON

 

"Happy birthday, Charlie," Jack whispered. 

He shook his head. He didn't know why he had come here. He didn't believe in talking to headstones. Jack hadn't even been to the cemetery since, well since this time last year. 

_It figures,_ Jack mused to himself _I couldn't even be there for him in death._ How many birthdays had he missed? How many school events and Little League games? All because work was so goddamn important. He was always putting things off until "next year." He could hear his own voice:

_Next year, Charlie, we're going to pack up everything and go to Disney World._

_Next year, you, me, baseball fantasy camp._

_I'm so sorry that I missed you in the school play. But I'll be front row center for the next one._

_Next year, next year, I'll be here for your birthday._  

 

"Next year" never happened. The next year, Charlie was dead. His precious life had slipped through his father's fingers, leaving behind nothing but emptiness and regret.

 

Jack felt the familiar, bitter bile rising in his throat and swallowed, trying to force it down. He tried forcing the bitter ache down as well, but this time, unlike so many times in the past, it refused to go down. The dull pain filled the place in his heart that his son used to fill. He knew he would carry that ache with him for the rest of his life. Most days now he hardly noticed it, as it was filtered by everyday life. In a crisis, of which there were far too many, he would have sworn that it wasn't there as the adrenaline blocked out all but the task at hand. But when the adrenaline wore out, when the friends went home, when the danger was averted, when the beer buzz wore off, that's when the pain would resurface, however briefly. Some days were better than others. This was *not* a good day. 

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Slowly lifting his head, he looked into the blue eyes that he loved so much. 

"Sara," he whispered. 

"Hi, Jack," she said softly, smiling slightly. 

She was wearing a dark coat. She had grown her hair out since the last time they met. Now it fell softly past her shoulders. Had it been that long since he had seen her? 

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said suddenly. 

"Where else would I be?" 

"You weren't here last year," Sara's voice betrayed a hint of accusation. 

"Yes, I was," He pointed to a large monument nearby. "I stood behind it when you and Mike were here." 

*************************************************

Sara shook her head; there was no sense in asking Jack why he couldn't face her. She was surprised that he hadn't made some excuse and left. Instead he moved over and held a hand out to her to help her down. She knelt down beside him and reached out to touch the stone like he had. 

For Sara, the pain ran just as deep. She had fought to move on and most days believed she had. But the ache of losing her only child would haunt her until her dying day. She had reacted differently than her former husband. Jack had drawn into himself, burying all signs of his son's very existence from his life. Sara had wrapped the memories of her son around her like Charlie had once wrapped his security blanket around himself. She had kept his room just as he had had it in life, a shrine of sorts. Others might have found it slightly creepy, but Sara found comfort in sitting in the room talking to her son. She had slowly come to the realization that Charlie was always with her, a thought that had gone a long way to healing part of her broken heart. It would never completely heal, but the pain was something she could live with. Now if she could only get past the part that Jack had broken . . . . 

She looked over at her son's father. He was kneeling, his eyes staring off into nothing. She wondered what he was thinking about. 

"Jack?" she whispered, trying to bring him back to earth. 

"Hmm?" he replied his expression telling her that she'd startled him out of his thoughts. 

He looked over at her. She could tell that he had noticed her eyes starting to fill with tears. She shivered as the wind blew through her coat. 

"You're cold." He put an arm around her drawing her close. 

Sara tried not to look at him. Tried to push aside the feelings that being so close to him stirred up. But it wasn't working, she turned her head to look at him and their eyes met. 

If eyes were the windows to the soul, Jack had finally opened the blinds. Sara could see his deep pain and sorrow and much to her surprise, his love for her. She shuddered despite herself. 

Jack misunderstood; he thought she was shivering still. "It's way too cold out here. Do you want to go get a cup of coffee?" 

She nodded slowly, not trusting herself to speak. She let him help her up and lead her to his car. They drove in silence to a nearby coffee shop. The place was nearly deserted which gave them so privacy in which to talk. 

Sitting in a secluded corner with their cups, they stared at each other awkwardly for several minutes. Just when Sara was about to give up and call it a day, Jack spoke. 

"I'm sorry you thought that I didn't come last year." 

"Why did you hide?" 

Jack stared down into his cup of coffee, "I didn't want to upset you." 

Sara looked at him incredulously, "You didn't want to *upset* me? How do you think I felt when you didn't show up? I was *upset*. Upset that you didn't seem to care enough about me or your son to show up." 

"I knew this was a bad idea." Jack started to get up to leave. 

Sara's voice was low but seething, "Don't you dare walk out that door. I'm so *sick* of you doing that. You always run when the going gets tough. Well, it's time you acted like the damn soldier you're supposed to be and faced it." 

"Sara, not here, let's not do this here, not today." 

"Fine, we won't do this here, but we're going to do it *today*. I'm not letting you give me some line about calling me and then dropping off the face of the Earth like you've been for the past year." 

Jack nodded and walked out the door, Sara hot on his heels. He opened the car door for her in silence. 

As they drove, Sara stared out the window. What was she doing? Fighting with him would only make him withdraw back into himself. Jack would sit there in stony silence as she tried desperately to get any words out of him. She *knew* that, it always happened, but she wasn't going to let it again. 

They pulled up to a house set in a small subdivision a little ways from the rest of town. His house, she assumed. She knew the address, the phone number, but had never been there before. Jack let her in and then took a seat on the couch, arms crossed in front of his chest. A bad sign. 

"Jack, I don't want to fight with you." 

"Really?" His voice was thick with sarcasm. 

"Yes, I just want to talk to you. For a minute back in the cemetery, it looked like you were going to open up to me. But then you closed up again." 

"You were angry." 

"I wasn't angry, I was telling you the truth. I was upset when you didn't show up. And you made me feel like I didn't matter to you." 

"You do matter to me, more than you will ever know." Jack was standing now, pacing next to the fireplace. 

"That's just it, Jack, I will never know. You won't tell me. You closed yourself off from me when we needed each other the most. And it ripped us apart." 

Jack turned and stared at her, his breathing heavy. He just stood there, his arms falling to his sides, breathing in and out slowly, obviously trying to regain control. 

Finally he said, "I couldn't deal with your grief. You were so angry, angry at me, angry at yourself, angry at the world. There was so much anger in that house, it was suffocating." 

"I know, but you didn't do anything about it. You would sit in his room for hours, holding a gun." 

Jack's eyebrows rose in surprise, how did she know about the gun? 

"Yes, Jack I knew. You wanted to kill yourself. And there was a part of me that wished you would just do it." 

"Sara!" He was shocked. 

"To get it over with. You had drawn so into yourself that it was like living with a dead man. It would have been easier grieving over you as a widow, than over you as your wife." Sara was crying now. 

Sara's words had cut him to the quick. Had it been that terrible for her? 

"I'm sorry, Sara, I didn't know." 

"You left me all alone. All alone. First emotionally, then physically. I *needed* you, Jack." Sara sobbed. 

"I know. But I couldn't help myself. How could I help you if I couldn't help myself?" 

Jack turned away from her, staring at the wall, looking anywhere but at her. She crossed the space in the living room that separated them. She placed her hand on his arm, trying to get him to look at her. 

"You could have come to me, Jack. We were a team; we were supposed to help each other. We were supposed to take on the world, together." 

He turned his head to look at her, and she put a hand on either side of his face cradling it. Her voice was low, sorrowful. "But instead, we're both alone, and I don't know how we're ever going to get past this." 

She was crying, the tears running down her face. In Jack's eyes she could see the same thing she had glimpsed back at Charlie's grave. Deep sorrow, but there was also deep love. He drew her closer to him, his forehead touching hers. She swore she could feel his tears intermingling with hers, but she couldn't be sure. They stayed like that for a long time. Neither saying anything, just touching, holding on to what had been lost. 

He kissed her forehead. He tilted her face so it was even with his. It was his turn to cradle her face. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Jack took a deep breath. 

"I don't think we can," he said, brushing her hair back from her face. 

"It's too late, isn't it?" she asked. Deep down they both knew it was. 

Jack nodded slowly, never taking his eyes or his hands off of her. He put his arms around her waist, burying his face in her shoulder. Locked together, holding on like a shipwrecked sailor holding on to a life raft. 

Finally, Jack whispered, "I should take you home." 

She shook her head. She drew a little away from him and raised one hand to touch his cheek. She traced the contour of his face to his temples. So much grayer now, she noticed. She felt his hand cover hers, a questioning expression on his face. 

"I love you, Jack," she whispered so low that he almost didn't hear her. 

"Sara . . . ." Jack's voice trailed off. He removed his hand from hers, to cup her chin. He leaned down and softly brushed her lips with his. That was all the answer she needed to hear. 

They parted softly, looking at each other. 

"Goodbye Sara," Jack said. 

"Goodbye Jack, it was, it was. . . ." 

"It was the greatest." They were both crying now. Sara had never seen Jack cry, not even when Charlie had died. Now she knew it was over. No turning back now. 

She started to turn away, but he caught her arm and gently turned her around again. Then he kissed her. A kiss that had a mind of its own. Desperate, passionate, tender, loving, and yet oh so *final.* 

When they finally parted, Jack said simply, "I'll take you back to your truck." 

He held her hand on the drive back to the cemetery. She didn't pull away. They came to a stop near her truck. She shook as she forced herself to look at Jack. Getting out of the car would be like acknowledging that it was truly over. 

"I'm sorry," was all he said. 

"I know." 

She opened the door and got out, starting to walk to her truck. 

"Wait!" She could hear him yelling as she opened the door. 

She turned around to see him on the sidewalk walking quickly to her. 

She joined him on the sidewalk, eyes wide, expectant. 

"I love you." 

He hadn't said that since before Charlie died. She wasn't sure why he was saying it now. But he had the look of a man who had said his piece. 

She hugged him one last time. Then she slowly walked away. As she got in, she said, "Take care of yourself, Jack." 

Then she started the ignition and left. 

He stood there for a long time, watching her drive, making sure she rounded the corner safely. Then he swore quietly to himself. 

 _Goodbye, Sara._  

He looked at his car, but didn't get inside. Instead he headed for the small gravestone underneath a willow. He knelt down beside it. 

"Happy Birthday, Charlie."

 

The End


End file.
